


Lavender

by Ageofavalon



Category: Linked Universe - Fandom, The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Character Death, Gen, Hyrule (Linked Universe)-centric, Linked Universe (Legend of Zelda), Magical Artifacts, Near Death Experiences, Self-Sacrifice, Temporary Character Death, What Have I Done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:01:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27306700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ageofavalon/pseuds/Ageofavalon
Summary: Lavender brought him comfort.
Comments: 21
Kudos: 207





	Lavender

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DFchan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DFchan/gifts).



> A birthday fic for the lovely, talented, wonderful human being that is DF-Chan.
> 
> All the way back in March-April time, when she, I and Lari worked on Keep Your Face To The Sun, we asked each other two questions: Who is your favourite character in LU, and what's your favourite colour.
> 
> Blue and purple, Hyrule and Legend.
> 
> I took these four words and wove them into an angsty little story, that was, as ever, supposed to be fluff but didn't stay on track.
> 
> I really hope you like it.
> 
> (Please do heed the tags, dear reader, there is a fair amount of blood and injury in this.)
> 
> ~~~
> 
> EDIT 29/11/20: OKAY SO DF MADE COVER ART FOR THIS AND ITS GLORIOUS AND BEAUTIFUL AND MY HEART IS FULL OF RAINBOWS.
> 
> https://dfanart.tumblr.com/post/636143625902899200/ageofavalon-wrote-me-a-gift-fic-a-glorious-7k#notes

Lavender brought him comfort.

  
  
  


Such a strange statement, but it was true. Wherever there was lavender, there would be aid or relief in one form or another. In these little blue and purple flowers there was proof that something, or someone, cared.

  
  
  


The cave in which he had been gifted his first sword had bunches of dried lavender hanging from the stalactites, a ward against the evil eye of Ganon. A sprig was pinned to the robe of the old man that resided there, and the air was heavy with it’s perfumed fragrance.

  
  
  


After, when Ganon lay dead and Link returned to the cave to thank the man, they drank together in celebration and friendship. Their mugs were filled with lemonade (for Link was too young for many things, world-saving and alcohol being among them) and little dried buds bobbed on the surface.

  
  
  


To purify, the man said. Just in case. Slaying an evil of that magnitude is not an easy thing, and there is always the risk that darkness could follow you.

  
  
  


How right he was.

  
  


\---

  
  


Ganon’s monsters did not disappear from Hyrule. They cried for blood, his blood, and swore to hunt Link until they could drain his body dry over the ashes of their master and extend his dark shadow over the land once more.

  
  
  


Link became a wanderer.

  
  
  


It was a necessity when monster-kind dogged your steps, hunting you down at every turn. Villages, poor as they often were, with inhabitants that were poorer still, would not suffer to have him within their bounds for longer than it took to buy supplies. Sometimes, not even that long. They knew that evil would follow him, and so Link had been on the receiving end of many a threat or weapon as he approached settlement walls. Not even Castle Town was open to him beyond a few short transactions, the Princess having been advised to keep him at a civil distance. If she was seen to be friendly with him or to aid him, it could well be seen as inviting bad luck into the land. The people could revolt. She could lose support from the nobles.

  
  
  


In an already battered and uncertain world, she chose to remain aloof. Safe. Above it all.

  
  
  


What luxury, to be able to be so.

  
  
  


Soldiers would not help him, unless it was under complete secrecy. They, like their Princess, were grateful for his heroics but were under orders not to acknowledge him. To drive him away, if they felt it necessary.

  
  
  


To kill him, if needed, and if they could do so without spilling his blood.

  
  
  


Link learned to fear blunt objects and the shine of armour. 

  
  
  


The message was clear - no help would come from the royals, or the military, or the common folk. Aside from a few friends scattered about the land, he was on his own.

  
  
  


Except, sometimes, he wondered if that was truly the case. 

  
  
  


Hyrule was very big, and held many secrets. Link prided himself on winkling many of these out, whether it was treasure lying hidden from the eyes of man deep in a ruined temple, or odd pots that increased his magical stamina tucked away in unlikely places, or magical keys that could unpick any lock he held them to. These were impersonal secrets, ones that had been hidden long ago and he was just the first person to stumble upon them in all that time. They were definitely useful, and finding something like that was always fun, but they hadn’t been there specifically for him to come across.

  
  
  


But sometimes? Oh, sometimes, it felt as if he was being watched over.

  
  
  


Ever since his first adventure, when bringing down Ganon had led to him being hunted across the kingdom, he’d found little items tucked away where no-one but the most curious (or most desperate) would find them. Nothing big or impressive, but always thoughtful. A good example was the cave chests.

  
  
  


There were a few caves spread across Hyrule that he used as shelter, spending only a couple of weeks at a time living in each before heading out into the wilderness again so it was harder to track him down. In each one, he had found a chest. 

  
  
  


In every chest, there was something that could have been put there just for him.

  
  
  


One small chest had been wedged behind a stalagmite in the darkest corner of the cave, near impossible to see unless you were actively searching every corner for threats and danger. Inside, there were tightly wrapped parcels of dried meats, fruits and nuts all sealed over with a preserving spell. Even Link, with his limited experience in magic could tell that the spell was very, very old indeed. But it had been well cast, and the food was fresh and edible.

  
  
  


A folded piece of parchment had lain atop the food, and when Link opened it with curious fingers a pressed flower had fallen out. Lavender. Blue this time, as blue as the ink that swept over the parchment.

  
  
  


_Please take what you need,_ it said.

  
  
  


(Link had been ten, chased away from the last three villages, almost out of supplies and desperately hungry. He’d cried when he saw the food, and had gone to sleep that night without hunger gnawing at his belly for the first time in days.

  
  
  


He took half the remaining food with him, and left the rest hidden for the next person who needed it.

  
  
  


It would be him a year later, and he was no less grateful for it.)

  
  
  


Another chest had been sunk into a pool, in a cave that held a freshwater spring mostly untouched by contamination. Link had been taking the opportunity to bathe in the deep basin formed by years of water erosion, when he’d kicked a slab at the bottom of it. Hard. After a minute of cursing under his breath and hopping around in pain, he looked down and realised there was now a glimmer of metal where there hadn’t been before.

  
  
  


Hauling the slab out of the way took a few tries. Hauling the chest out where it had become stuck over the years took a few more. Link got a lot of practice holding his breath that day. But eventually he pulled the chest out of the water and onto relatively dry land. The wood and metal were dry as a bone, having been protected by some kind of waterproofing spell, and the latch slid free under Link’s hand as easily as if it had been oiled the day before.

  
  
  


This one held clothes. Sized to fit a young man, the long sleeved shirt and trousers were in earthy colours while the tunic was the dark green of pine tree needles. Warm undergarments were folded underneath, and a pair of ankle length black boots sat upright next to it all.

  
  
  


Pinned to the tunic was a scrap of thick, handmade paper.

  
  
  


_I hope they fit_ , it read in swirling lines of purple.

  
  
  


When he picked the shirt up, wide eyed, a dried lavender sprig fell from between the folds of cloth.

  
  
  


(Link had been twelve and going through a growth spurt. Keeping yourself respectably dressed was hard enough as a traveller without all your clothes suddenly deciding to shrink inches at a time, and he was well aware that he looked more scruffy than usual. Wind and rain affected him more easily, as did the cold. He feared becoming ill, and winter was approaching quickly.

  
  
  


The clothes were too big, gloriously so, and sewn with thick, warm fabric and small, strong stitches. They would fit him for a good few years until he outgrew them, and would still be fit to hand down to another child for more years of use. The boots too, which he wore for years until his toes scrunched uncomfortably against the ends, were heavy and waterproof and had a firm grip on slippery rocks. It was a true shame when he finally had to retire them.)

  
  


A third cave, deep in the mountains, held blankets which helped him stave off the bitterly cold nights far better than the raggedy, threadbare ones he had been using. A fourth, near the sea, had fresh drinking water - a startling rarity nowadays - and a jar full of salve that kept the ocean sun from burning his skin when he ventured out on a raft, the recipe tied to the neck of the jar so that he could make more. Others scattered over the land held potions, or bandages, or a new satchel when his old one was too worn to be patched. The contents weren't always needed when he first found them, but they proved invaluable at a later date. 

  
  


Strangest of all were the dolls.

  
  


They _really_ looked like Link.

  
  


It was uncanny, actually, how much they resembled him. Miniature tunic, shirt and breeches in the same colours he'd taken to wearing since the gift of clothes years before, tiny boots of brown leather (and the idea that anyone would waste leather on a doll of all things!) which echoed the pair he wore now, even the green cap perched on shaggy woolen hair was accurate. Really, he should have found it creepy that someone was apparently going around making little Link shaped totems and hiding them in places only he was likely to stumble across them.

  
  


But every time he found one in the time between his first and second quest, they were tucked carefully into little wooden chests and always, always accompanied by lavender and a tiny note in blue or purple ink. 

  
  


_Just in case._

  
  


He kept all four, burying them deep in his bag.

  
  


When times were very hard, when he felt truly alone and was struggling to keep any kind of positivity within his heart, he would pull one out. Rub his fingers over the small, strong stitches and fiddle with the soft fabric, hold them close and breathe in the calming scent. While the other gifts left for him had been practical and useful, someone, somewhere had cared enough to sit down and craft something purely sentimental. Something that was, without a doubt, for him and him alone.

  
  


It was childish, perhaps, to cling to such things. But he'd had to grow up so quickly and leave much of his childhood behind. Surely no-one could begrudge him this small comfort.

  
  


The small things were often what made the difference in the end.

  
  


He survived long enough to get sucked into a second quest. The Triforce of Courage called to him, asking to be reunited with its siblings. A princess lay in a state of living death, deep in a locked wing of the palace. Monster-kind had grown ever stronger and bolder, and occupied old dungeons throughout Hyrule.

  
  


He was made responsible for solving all three of those problems.

  
  


Through a lot of experience in survival, a cobbled together understanding of swordsmanship and magic and a great deal of luck, he managed it. He ran himself ragged doing it, of course. Solved people's issues for scraps of power to help him over otherwise impossible obstacles. Trudged through the most wretched corners of his kingdom both above and below ground. Flirted with death more often than was comfortable.

  
  


And because of that last point, he discovered what the dolls were actually for.

  
  


Rebonack, the final boss of the Island Palace, was formidable. While he wasn't the strongest enemy Link had ever faced down, Ganon still holding that title, he was the strongest Link had faced on this quest so far. Mounted on an armoured steed and with the ability to _disappear into thin air_ while still maintaining his attacks, it was a rough fight. Even after he knocked the monster off his horse, Rebonack was quick on his feet. The constant ducking and diving to avoid his attacks, coupled with the amount of magic he had to pump into his Jump spell, wore Link down faster than he realised.

  
  


Inevitably, he stumbled.

  
  


Rebonack struck.

  
  


A sword beam caught Link across the chest.

  
  


He didn't feel it, at first. He was faintly aware that he had fallen to the ground, and that the front of his tunic was warm, and that Rebonack was standing over him with an air of self-satisfaction behind its helmet. The pain followed almost as an afterthought, but when it came, it was crippling. He gasped and choked on nothing, a chill seeping into his very bones, darkness pulsing in the corners of his vision in time with his treacherous heartbeat that only served to pump more blood from his body.

  
  


And then, just as sense was leaving him completely...

  
  


...everything stopped.

  
  


The chill, the blood, the darkness, all stopped.

  
  


Link gaped up at the ceiling, catching his breath, before meeting the hidden gaze of Rebonack.

  
  


A moment of pure confusion was shared between them, and as one, they looked down at Link's chest, to the gaping slash that should have been there.

  
  


Nothing.

  
  


Not even a hole in his tunic.

  
  


Rebonack pointed at him, lifting it's hand in the universal sign of _What the fuck, dude?_

  
  


Link shrugged and shook his head, equally baffled.

  
  


Rebonack didn't even try to defend itself when Link, acting purely on muscle memory, stabbed it through the gut.

  
  


Turns out the guy, along with all the other bosses on this quest, was explosive. Who knew?

  
  


Link proceeded through the last part of the palace in an utter daze. He still felt drained of magic and energy, up until he pressed the crystal of the Island Palace into place with trembling fingers and received the customary boost to both, allowing him to continue on with minimal downtime.

  
  


That night, hidden in the hollow of an old, twisted tree, Link fumbled through his pack, reaching for one of the dolls in hopes that holding it would settle his racing mind.

  
  


When he pulled one out, he found the answer to how he had survived that blow.

  
  


The first doll he had ever found came out of his bag almost in two halves, a few wisps of the tightly packed wool stuffing wafting through the air. A great slash tore through the three layers of fabric at the front, the tunic, shirt and body, from arm to arm. The back fabric layers were intact, but the weight of the stuffed head pulled the slash back and open like some bizarre misplaced mouth. 

  
  


A fatal blow.

  
  


One that had transferred to the doll, and spared the flesh-and-blood Link.

  
  


Whoever his mysterious guardian was, they'd saved his life.

  
  


Peeking from inside the stuffing was a tiny muslin bag, and when Link brushed a finger against it, perfumed buds rasped against each other within.

  
  


Link pulled the tattered cloth figure to his chest, curled around it, and wept.

  
  


\---

  
  


When he was able to barter for thread and a few needles, the first thing he did was repair the doll.

  
  


Now he knew what to look for, he could see the last remnants of an old, powerful spell hidden amongst the fraying threads of the slashed fabric. It had spent itself completely. What he held now was just an ordinary cloth doll in his image, nothing more and nothing less. In terms of protection, it was now useless.

  
  


He repaired it anyway.

  
  


The doll, or the person behind the spell, had saved him from a gruesome death. He clumsily drew dark thread in ladders through the cloth, one layer at a time, and in every stitch there was gratitude.

  
  


Life was hard, true, but it was beautiful too and there was so much more he wanted to do.

  
  


He had that chance now. He had, in fact, three more chances if he needed them.

  
  


The repaired doll, now carrying a great dark scar as a sign of its heroics, joined its unblemished siblings in his bag, and Link continued on.

  
  


\---

  
  


In the depths of the Great Palace, his final destination, Link found the sixth doll.

  
  


This time the note pinned to it was different. For every other doll, including the fifth one that he had found within the Three-eyed Rock Palace, it had read _Just in case_.

  
  


This time, it read _Please, be safe_.

  
  


Link, standing there covered in burn marks from fireballs and dust from smashing barriers out of his path with his sword, couldn't help but shoot the doll an incredulous look right in it's big shell-button eyes.

  
  


The doll didn't respond, being an inanimate object.

  
  


This was the last, and hardest, palace he needed to go through, and so far it was living up to its reputation. At every turn there were enemies spitting fire, flurries of sword beams and floating heads lunging at him from beyond the tops of staircases. It was swelteringly hot, lava bubbling and spitting from beneath narrow walkways, and breakaway platforms had made him fear for his life more than once.

  
  


_Please, be safe_ was a nice sentiment, but as Link wasn't in the best of moods, it came across a little condescending. 

  
  


It didn't stop him from pocketing the doll, or taking the time to fold the parchment scrap and stow it safely between the pages of his Book of Magic. He'd done so with every note he'd ever gotten from the chests, after all, no need to stop doing so just because he was grumpy.

  
  


(Much like the dolls, the notes were a source of comfort when things got bad. When it was cold, or wet, or dark, or he was too tired to even imagine getting back up, he'd spread the notes out one by one and read their short messages, reminding himself that someone, somewhere was cheering him on. And after that, getting back up felt less daunting.)

  
  


Stumbling into _a second damn boss arena_ straight off the painfully difficult Thunderbird battle that had cost him another doll, the plea for his safety became a bit more clear.

  
  


The Triforce was right there, guarded by an old man, but before he could even think about how to get up to the platform, movement out of the corner of his eye had him swinging around with a drawn blade.

  
  


Just a wall. His shadow was projected upon it, its own blade held at an identical angle.

  
  


Link chuckled, weakly. Jumping at shadows now? Some hero he was.

  
  


He turned back to the platform, but the Triforce was gone.

  
  


More movement in his peripheral vision.

  
  


His Shadow flung Itself at him, the dark copy of his blade piercing Link's throat.

  
  


Sentinel-like, It stood impassionately by as he thrashed and gurgled on the floor. But when he picked himself back up, the wound gone, it tilted its head, curious. A thin line spread across its face, like a slash of light. It quirked at the ends, cruelly. A smile.

  
  


(Inside his bag, the third doll's head hung by a few strands of cotton.)

  
  


And thus began the hardest battle of Link's life.

  
  


The Shadow had what Ganon hadn't - speed, prior knowledge of Link's moves, and some semblance of intelligence. Every move Link dealt was countered, everything he gave was returned. And with every blow It landed, the Shadow's mouth split wider and wider into a horrific grin. Being a mostly featureless lump of darkness in Link's form, the grin carved straight through Its head, and the wider it got, the more of the room behind It could be seen through the gap.

  
  


When It pierced Link's side, carving through bone and muscle with a wretched tearing sound, the crescent shaped slash in Its head was as wide as a spread palm.

  
  


It dug Its heels in, pivoting, and sliced through Link like a hot knife through butter.

  
  


(The fourth doll collapsed forward, body neatly carved in two.)

  
  


This time, when he got up again, It laughed. The sound It made scratched at Link's eardrums, the screaming of a fox mixed with the cracking of thick ice, and he winced, still reeling from his almost-death.

  
  


He looked up in time to see the dark blade swinging straight for his head.

  
  


This time, Link stayed down.

  
  


The Shadow strode forward, idly kicking Link's leg out of the way as It walked around him, reaching down to tug It's blade out of Link's head. Swinging the sword in an arc, blood flying off to splatter on the walls, It regarded the cooling lump of meat that had been It's opponent. Idly, It pushed the blade through Link's abdomen, just to hear the sound it made.

  
  


Link's hand, formerly limp, closed around the blade of his own sword.

  
  


(A shell-button cracked and split under an invisible force as the fifth doll took the blow onto itself, the reaction delayed until the shadow-stuff had been removed from Link's body)

  
  


Link thrust up.

  
  


The Shadow's grin fell.

  
  


The Magical Sword sprouted from the back of It's head.

  
  


With a scream of pure, unadulterated fury, The Shadow exploded into gloomy wisps, some otherworldly force yanking It away through the walls of the room and leaving Link alone on the floor.

  
  


The Shadow was bested.

  
  


Link had proved his courage.

  
  


A withered hand reached down into his line of sight, offering him help to rise, and once he had, the old man who guarded the Triforce of Courage smiled up at him. With a pat to his hand, the man turned and walked away, disappearing into nothing as Link watched with exhausted eyes.

  
  


The back of his hand burned golden as the Triforce whisked him away from the Great Palace, the structure's purpose fulfilled.

  
  


All was quiet in the depths of stone and brick.

  
  


\---

What happened next is well known, of course. A sleeping princess awoken, The Triforce reunited once more, and Link thanked for his time and ushered out of the palace doors and back onto the road. Life wasn’t much different, except for the three triangles shining on the back of his hand which he kept carefully hidden. The Shadow’s last blow left a wicked scar, one that would catch on his clothes and remind Link of its presence fairly often, but as far as he was concerned it was a small price to pay for the safety of Hyrule.

  
  


It wasn’t the fault of the land that it needed saving every now-and-again, and he’d spend so many years wandering it that he couldn’t help but feel a great fondness for his country. There was a lot of beauty and joy to be found amongst the grassy hills, on the slopes of mountains and in the dark of night. Sure, the water wasn’t safe to drink and a lot of people wanted him dead, but it was his home, and he loved it.

  
  


So when he was suddenly pulled out of it and onto a third quest, journeying with a group of heroes from across space-time to take down an unknown foe, he took the name of the land he loved so dearly.

  
  


It ended up being the best quest of his life.

  
  


He’d never been part of a team before, and while it took a bit of getting used to, he wondered if he’d ever be able to go back to being alone. Having a group of people that he could trust completely, whether it was watching his back in battle or guarding the camp so he could sleep without fear, was a revelation, as was being trusted in turn. He had the only innate magical gift among the nine of them and used it to help where he could, and the words of thankfulness that followed made warmth bloom in his chest. He rarely took the dolls out these days, with living companions to watch and talk to and spar with. They were still there, buried in the folds of his spare blanket and lending the scent of lavender to everything in his bag, but he wasn’t lonely any more, so there they stayed for now.

  
  


Hyrule grew to love all of the other heroes very quickly, bonding over adventurous natures and daft stories, foes faced and beaten, weird dungeons and odd items, and what they missed about their homes.

  
  


He was lucky enough to see each of their homes in person, and found that every version of Hyrule had something to admire. Many of them had never gone through a huge, world-shattering event like his own had, and so were lively and colourful and peaceful. The first time he saw a marketplace crowded with people and animals, he’d thought he was dreaming. Nobody chased him away from city gates, shops or inns - heck, people smiled at him! Genuinely smiled! His rupees were considered as good as anyone else's, so he didn’t have to barter any harder or pay any more for goods or food than his companions. And the choice! Hyrule delighted in trying all manner of exotic foodstuffs and fresh produce, looking over high quality cloth dyed in jewel colours, picking up replacement items better than anything he could come across back home. In a market in Legend’s land he even found a pair of boots as good as the ones gifted to him in the cave chest so many years ago, which he had thought impossible, and he felt no guilt buying and wearing them straight away. He had the money, and his old boots were worn so thin at the soles that he might as well be walking barefoot. The stall was overflowing with shoes of all kinds so he wasn’t taking away from anyone else who might need it more. Legend’s world had no shortage of resources.

  
  


It also had no shortage of monsters.

  
  


Less than his own did, true, but high rates of monster spawning were still very normal there. With the added issue of monsterkind from everyone’s respective lands appearing and causing havoc, it was only a matter of time before a battle went south.

  
  


Hyrule had no idea how long they’d been fighting for. A veritable army of moblins and boarblins had attacked as they were walking to the next town, nearly every single one cursed. More still appeared on the nearby hillsides, archer ‘blins from Sky’s time who rained down arrows from above. Wild and Twilight were able to pick these off one by one with their own bows, but it was slow going as nobody was able to cover them, all occupied with taking on the ground troops. By the time the archers had been dispatched, swarms of Lizalfos from Time’s era had joined the fight, bolstering the monsters’ forces and forcing the heroes to be even faster on their feet. Every now and then, a glimpse of black scales and piercing red eyes could be seen in the mad crush of monster bodies.

  
  


A planned attack, designed to overwhelm.

  
  


Eventually, however, the tide started to turn. Nobody was escaping this battle without injury - Hyrule caught a glimpse of Warriors, heavily favouring his left side, and Wind with blood running down his face, but the enemy forces grew thinner and a few ‘blins even turned around and fled at the realisation that it was no longer a guaranteed victory. As if to make up for that, the remaining enemies grew more frantic and desperate, taking more risks and dropping their guards in a bid to land fatal blows.

  
  


For the most part, they were unsuccessful.

  
  


But Legend had been pushed out towards the edge of the field they were fighting in, and had four boarblins occupying his attention. He hadn’t seen the Lizalfos General sneaking up behind him.

  
  


Hyrule had.

  
  


He broke off from his own fight and ran as hard as he possibly could. His new boots held firm in the furrowed, broken grass, and he was able to avoid every monster that crossed his path with ease, but even so, he would be cutting it close. Too close. He would get there, but he knew he wouldn’t have time to push Legend out of the way or raise his shield to block the blow.

  
  


So he didn’t.

  
  


As the Lizalfos’s ebony claws slashed through the air, aimed straight for Legend’s unprotected back, Hyrule dove into their path.

  
  


As always, he didn’t really feel it. He must have screamed, for an echo was bouncing off the nearby treeline, and it must have hurt, because the General’s claws were still lodged in his chest as he fell. But Hyrule already felt quite detached from it all, the chill and darkness slamming into him with the force of a charging Lynel, so much so that he almost missed the moment when Wolfie arrived and tore the General away, claws ripping out of his body as fangs ripped out the Lizalfos’s throat.

  
  


A beat, a second of lost time, and he was flat on the ground. Legend’s pale face hovered in his field of view, stark against the blue sky, screaming his name. One black claw still remained in place, sticking out from between Legend’s fingers as he pressed the full weight of his body down to stem the blood flowing down Hyrule’s sides. It wasn’t working. The wound was too deep, too much, and Hyrule knew that Legend knew that he was dying. Not even a fairy could save him now.

  
  


He tried to speak, to reassure him that it was okay, but blood bubbled from between his lips instead, and Legend started to sob.

  
  


The earth rumbled under the weight of footsteps racing towards them. Warriors pushed in next to Legend, his scarf torn off and used as a compress as they both desperately tried to keep him alive, pointless though it was. Behind them, Wind was crying into Sky’s chest, smearing the blood from his head wound all over the precious sailcloth, and he knew Sky wouldn’t care in the slightest. Time settled an arm around them both. A small hand wrapped around one of his own, smooth burn marks marking the owner as Four. Wolfie trotted over, gore dripping from his muzzle, and lay down against his other side, the warmth of his fur comforting although not enough to chase away the chill. Hyrule’s head was lifted, ever so gently, and set in someone’s lap, the tip of Wild’s ponytail falling into Hyrule’s vision.

  
  


Hyrule had always wondered if anyone would mourn him, once he was gone. What a way to find out the answer.

  
  


The last vestiges of thought slipped away, and surrounded by his team (his friends, his _family)_ Hyrule’s heartbeat finally stopped.

  
  


\---

  
  


The sun had set before anyone thought to remove the claw.

  
  


Legend had carried Hyrule (‘s corpse, he was _dead,_ he’d died saving Legend’s life, why did he lose all the people that meant the most to him?) for hours after the battle, until they’d reached somewhere safe enough to set up camp. Nothing was likely to be chasing them; aside from a few monsters who’d turned tail as soon as they started losing, the party of heroes hadn’t left any of their attackers alive. But none of them wanted to be close to where they had lost Hyrule. Where Hyrule had bled out in the dirt with his chest ripped open and Legend could do nothing but scream and cry until he stopped breathing. Useless, useless, _useless._

  
  


Habit had got them through the camp set-up, through building a fire, through tending wounds and washing off in the nearby river. Wild hadn’t cooked anything, but that was okay. From the looks of them all, nobody felt like eating.

  
  


Wind was the one that brought it up, breaking the long silence.

  
  


“We need to clean him up too.” he said, wrenching himself to his feet with a shuddery, miserable energy. There was still blood crusted in his hair, and dark bags under his eyes.

  
  


Wind looked at all of them in turn, from Time slumped against a tree, head in his hands, to Warriors who had been staring blankly into the fire, and finally to Legend who sat dead-eyed next to the cloak-and-scarf wrapped body of his successor.

  
  


“He shouldn’t be left like that.” Wind’s bottom lip wobbled, but he took a deep breath and soldiered on. “We can’t bury him covered in blood.”

  
  


Behind him, Sky flinched hard enough that Wild, who was leaning on him, was jolted with the movement.

  
  


The words reached past the fog of despair and shock that Legend had fallen under, forcing him to be present and think. Wind was right. They couldn’t leave their comrade, their brother, like this. It wasn’t fair. Hyrule always did his best to keep them healed and healthy, they couldn’t consign him to the cold earth with the filth of battle still on him.

  
  


He stood, slowly, and gathered the body into his arms once more.

  
  


“Kid’s right.” Legend’s voice was hoarse, and faint, but it carried well enough in the silence of the camp. “We can’t leave him like this.” He made his way into the trees, towards the river. Behind him there was the sound of six people hauling themselves upright, and then he was followed into the dark woods.

  
  


A funeral procession for a fallen hero.

  
  


The moon was low in the sky, peeking out from behind scattered clouds, but it shined enough for speckles of silver light to dance off the gently-flowing surface of the water. Leaves rustled in the trees behind them in a rhythm almost like the ebb and flow of breath. A light breeze stirred the grass as Legend drew close to the bank of the river, heading for the bend where the current ran slow. It was there he waded barefoot into the waist high water.

Wild joined him, breeches and tunic instantly sodden, while the others watched respectfully from the bank. He peeled back the layers of once-blue scarf and dark cloak from the body, baring the wound to the night air, and then dropped them in disgust.

“Bastard. He left a claw behind.”

Legend and Warriors’ frantic attempts to stem the blood flow had pushed the claw deeper into the mangled flesh, and only the base of it could be clearly seen, a dull black shape with ragged edges. 

Wild reached in and plucked it out, the claw coming free with a quiet crunching noise, and with a grimace he tossed it into the water downstream.

Legend nodded his thanks. Keeping a firm hold, he slowly lowered his arms towards the water. Wild stood close to help if needed.

So they both saw the exact moment Hyrule’s eyes snapped open.

The others heard twin yelps of shock, an enormous splash, the sound of someone spluttering on water and then, miraculously-

“Did you just _drop_ me?”

-and all hell broke loose.

—-

Flickering firelight illuminated the clearing, motionless except for the rise and fall of nine chests and the glint of metal moving deftly through the air.

  
  


The sun would rise soon, the sky to the east already starting to lighten, and Legend wanted to have this finished before dawn truly broke.

  
  


The sixth doll stared balefully up at the sky, the shredded fabric of its chest held together with tacking stitches, keeping everything in place while Legend worked to fix the damage as best he could.

  
  


Hyrule had entrusted the job to him with only a moment’s hesitation, and he wouldn’t let him down. Refused to let him down. This was too important.

  
  


This little thing had brought Hyrule back to them.

  
  


Lines of damp clothing waved gently in the air, strung between two trees on the other side of camp - a side effect of everyone rushing into the water to confirm for themselves that yes, Hyrule was alive, and to tangle themselves into a tremulous, soggy group hug. Hyrule, having just woken up and being dumped straight on his arse in a cold river, had been extremely confused right up until Wild had burst into tears. Most of them had followed suit, and Legend had been witness to Hyrule’s face going from shock to terrible understanding. Their traveller hadn’t stopped apologising, face drawn and pale, until they’d all clambered out of the river and made it back to camp, and only then to explain how he’d been able to cheat death.

  
  


And why it had taken so damn long to come back.

  
  
  


Six little dolls. Hyrule had mentioned them before during a conversation about weird finds, had even shown them one, saying he’d found them scattered across his world on and before his second quest. A unique set of trinkets without an obvious purpose, which they’d gently teased Hyrule about by calling him a narcissist considering how similar to him they looked, and then forgotten about the next day in favour of other things. In their defense, Hyrule hadn't ever told them what the dolls did _._

  
  


Each bore a violent wound somewhere on its body, taken into the cloth to save Hyrule from suffering an awful fate. Five times he’d died on his second quest, five thick, knotted ropes of cotton scarring that he’d shown them, hair still wet from the river, drowning in some of Sky’s spare clothes and shivering in the depths of Wolfie’s fur. From cold, he’d said, but there had been a little fear there too. This was a big deal, resurrection. Unnatural, some might say.

  
  


As if any of them were innocent of ‘unnatural’ acts themselves. Some of the rings Legend had defied all laws of nature, Twi turned into a wolf whenever he got the opportunity and the others all had their own little secrets. Seeing Hyrule’s guarded expression drop into relief when they pointed this out, passing the dolls back and forth between them with incredible care, was very telling. Sometimes Legend forgot that Hyrule didn’t have anyone trustworthy to share such things with back home.

  
  


The fact that the dolls existed didn’t bother him. The fact that he’d used his last one to protect Legend did.

  
  


He’d come out of his awful second quest with one chance left to cheat the reaper. Now that chance sat, spell broken and used, in between Legend’s hands. Hyrule didn’t have anything left to protect him if the worst happened, and it was all his fault for not seeing the giant black lizard sneaking up behind him.

  
  


A shiver ran through Legend’s frame, and he dropped the needle, fumbling for Hyrule. He closed a shaking hand around his successor's wrist, thumb pressing gently over the slow, steady pulse, and held it there until he stopped shaking. Hyrule, curled next to him in a pile of bodies, blankets and fur, stirred briefly at the touch, only to mumble something and fall back asleep within seconds, but it was enough to settle Legend.

  
  


He picked the needle back up and continued on with his work. The tiny tunic and shirt sat on one of his folded knees, neatly repaired, and he finished the body of the doll within a few minutes. Unlike their counterparts, he’d had thread that matched the colours of the fabric close enough that it was hard to tell the doll had been ripped, and the stitches were a darn sight neater, small and strong. Legend was, after all, a more practiced hand at this sort of thing than his successor. But as before, every stitch was filled with gratitude, gratitude that Hyrule had blushed at and waved off earlier.

  
  


\---

  
  


_“It would have killed you. Dying’s awful, I’ve done it enough times to know that, but seeing you die would have been worse.”_

  
  


_Next to Hyrule, Wild had nodded in understanding, which just raised more, ever-disturbing questions and made Twilight look incredibly queasy. For his own sanity, Legend put it out of his mind._

  
  


_“But this was your last one.”_

  
  


_He hadn't liked how small his voice had become, but couldn’t seem to do anything about it. The ripped doll lay in his lap, bits of wool stuffing turning translucent in the light from the fire. Three long, deep slashes carved through the chest, exactly where they had been on Hyrule’s body until twenty minutes ago. Where his heart would have sat was instead a tiny lavender bag, equally ripped, the buds long since escaped into the depths of Hyrule’s satchel._

  
  


_Hyrule had shrugged, Sky’s shirt falling off one freckled shoulder._

  
  


_“And I spent it well, as far as I’m concerned.”_

  
  


_Legend’s head had shot up, and he’d met Hyrule’s calm gaze with his own watery and wide-eyed one._

  
  


_“You can’t mean that.”_

  
  


_“I can and I do.” Hyrule’s gaze had turned a little stern, and he’d looked around the group, catching everyone’s eyes in turn the way Wind had not long before. “It doesn’t matter if it was my last one or not. I would have done it even if I didn’t have any more chances. And I would have done it for any of you. Legend’s just the one who needed it at the time.” He’d looked away then, hands twisting in his lap. “I’m only sorry you had to see me pass, it was a right mess. If it weren’t for the claw getting stuck in me I would have come back on the field and you wouldn't have had to lug my bleeding corpse around all day.”_

  
  


_Wild had clapped him on the back, if more gently than he normally did._

  
  


_“I’m just glad I pulled it out before we buried you.”_

  
  


_Hyrule had chuckled._

  
  


_“So am I, that would have been awful.”_

  
  


_The veritable buffet of horrified looks they had gotten made it clear that no-one else found the idea as amusing. Wild, as the only other person who had died within the group, had merely shrugged and made a note to save that particular brand of gallows humour for Hyrule alone._

  
  


\---

Legend, cringing at the remembrance, tied off the final thread and looked over his work. Behind the trees the first sunbeams of the day could be seen. He’d finished just in time.

  
  


Three neat seams drew together the ripped areas, any loose thread carefully snipped away. They were echoed on the shirt and tunic as Legend re-dressed the doll, fitting exactly over each other on each layer of cloth, and underneath it all, a tiny bag sat in the centre of the torso, dried buds rasping against metal and each other.

  
  


Wild had dried lavender among his herbs and spices, which he used to make tea when someone was having trouble sleeping. When Hyrule had stuttered out what the scent meant to him, the comfort it brought even when the spells on the dolls had been used up, Wild had shoved his entire stock towards Legend. Anything that wasn’t needed for the doll had gone into the teapot to help everyone settle down after the frankly awful day they had had, while Legend had sewn together a new sachet for the portion he had kept, the old one being too damaged to repair.

  
  


If anyone saw him take his scissors to the fabric of his nightshirt, clipping a rectangle of the thin fabric away at the bottom, they kept quiet. And if anyone saw a glint of firelight on metal as he slipped in his old friendship ring, carried faithfully with him ever since his Oracle adventures, well, they wouldn’t know the significance anyway.

  
  


Only Hyrule would, later that day when he gave the doll back.

  
  


It seemed fitting for the last doll to carry something of his, considering the spell on it had been used for his benefit.

  
  


He couldn’t think of anyone better to have it.

  
  


—-

Hyrule didn’t get close to death again on their quest.

  
  


Hurt? Sure. Sometimes badly, sometimes to the point that the help of a fairy was needed to get him to the point where potions could be effective, but nothing life-threatening.

  
  


(It is worth pointing out, however, that life-threatening by Hyrule’s standards and life-threatening by everyone else’s standards were two very different things. Legend swore that Hyrule would be the reason he started going grey.)

  
  


But eventually, not too long after he said goodbye to his new family, Hyrule’s last life came to an end.

  
  


It was peaceful, as far as deaths go. There was no blood spilled, no monsters looming over him with weapons raised. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have thought he was just falling asleep. Blessed relief after an illness that had left him crippled far too young. The local wise-woman had taken him into her home so he would have a quiet place to pass on, and as his eyes slid shut, the last things he knew were the heavy blanket of herbal scent in the air and the sight of dried lavender hanging from the ceiling. 

  
  


That alone was enough for him to know it was safe to let go.

  
  


He woke pressed against red cloth, shaking arms wrapped around his back and shoulders and a voice spouting apologies and frustration and comfort all in the same breath. He sagged into the hold, a smile pulling at his lips. Legend never changed, it seemed.

  
  


“Hi.”

  
  


“Hey there, traveller.” The hug tightened, and Hyrule reached up to return it. “That really was your last one, huh?”

  
  


“Mmhmm.” He lay his head on Legend’s shoulder, soaking in the warmth of the embrace. “And I spent it well.”

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Birthday DF-Chan! <3


End file.
